


Protector

by roselightsaber



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, NSFW, No Plot/Plotless, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 02:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9269273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselightsaber/pseuds/roselightsaber
Summary: A little plotless praise kink for your Baze Malbus Deserves All the Love in the Entire Universe(tm) needs.





	

The irony that the first man to ever make him feel so attractive was blind is not at all lost on Baze. It’s not as though he’s insecure, more that his looks have always been relatively irrelevant, except for the not-infrequent occasions in Jedha City when looking vaguely intimidating was to their benefit. Chirrut was a terror to those who’d already seen his handiwork, but on first glance he looked like the poor blind man he pretended to be: shorter than Baze, a lithe frame that managed to look slight under his robes though Baze is keenly aware that he’s all sculpted muscle and sharp angles underneath, and stronger than Baze wants to admit. Baze was taller, a ragged scar on his face from the same firefight that had left Chirrut blinded; he wears armor, carries an almost comically oversized and very illegal repeater cannon. The appearance of roughness, and yes, there is truth to it but it’s mostly that–appearance.

But under Chirrut’s touch he has no need for all that. The pretense, the staging. Hands map his skin as if he were a precious piece of art, another fragile sculpture recovered from the harsh sanda of Jedha. He feels undeserving of the attention, the reverent way Chirrut whispers to him, fingers, lips, then words, promising him he’s beautiful, he’s strong, he’s _good_ in that overly sincere way that might be an annoyance in any other context. But at the moment–tangled together in their bed, both already stripped bare despite the chill of the evening, at Chirrut’s insistence–the vulnerability in words murmured quietly to each other seemed appropriate. They don’t have enough time to simply enjoy each other lately; the city is a more dangerous place each day. Chirrut nudges him to lay back and straddles his hips, entirely too patient, too methodical, splaying slim fingers at the sides of Baze’s neck.

“I miss looking at you,” He whispers, a rare confession. All is as the Force wills, after all, and so he’d accepted his fate. Baze had always been more upset about Chirrut’s loss than the younger man had himself, and the crack in his perfect facade of serenity made his heart ache.

“You still see, in your way,” He offers, propping himself up on one arm and reaching up to cup his cheek in a calloused hand. “And I unfairly benefit from you still thinking of me as younger and less weathered.“

“Don’t you start that nonsense,” He huffs, though a hint of a smile undercuts the stern order. His hands slide up to read his face, gentle and searching. “I know you’re beautiful. You always will be.”

“Will you still touch me like that when those pretty hands of yours can only feel wrinkles?” He’s kidding–mostly kidding–and receives a tug at both ears for his effort.

“You’re stubborn.” He kisses his forehead. “But beautiful still, I assure you.” He gives Baze another little push to lie flat again. “Don’t I tell you enough?”

Baze hesitated. Surely the other was teasing, but he did feel a little silly dwelling on insecurities in the first place, so the insinuation that he also might be doubting Chirrut’s devotion strikes a particularly guilty chord within him. And he must have taken too long to process it, because the other hums thoughtfully as fingertips walk a faintly ticklish line back down Baze’s neck and across his collar bone. “I’ll tell you as much as you need,” Chirrut murmurs–an offer of something, by the inflection–before Baze can find any objection. Always reading him, always knowing, so completely without judgement. “Until I run out of words, my love.”

Part of Baze still wants to argue–he knows Chirrut loves him, he’d be a fool not to. But he’s intrigued at the way Chirrut’s hands are sliding across his shoulders as if to measure their breadth; he hasn’t been quite so thorough with him in a while, not since nights together in their small quarters at the Temple, Chirrut seemingly bent on testing Baze’s faith by worshipping _him_ more reverently than he ever said prayers. He shivers at the memory, and Chirrut notices, of course, taking a break from kissing the hollow of his throat to flash him a charming, mischievous smile.

“I know what you’re thinking about,” He chuckles.

“So, you do.” He rolls his eyes. “You always do.”

“I always do,” Chirrut repeats, sucking at the soft juncture of Baze’s neck and shoulder. “My handsome husband.” Baze feels his face flush as the other nuzzles the spot, still mapping his shoulders, giving him a squeeze. “Such broad shoulders…so strong.” Baze wants to tell him it’s a little silly coming from a man so much stronger than he is, but he resists. Something in the way Chirrut touches him has him believing it, even as his hands slide down his arms, muscular but not at all like Chirrut’s, soft where the other has sharp definition. “I should tell you more how much I love your arms.” He settles against Baze’s chest, a hand over his heart. “Hold me?”

Baze laughs softly. Chirrut is putting on a show but, gods help him, he loves it. Loves _him_ , and all this silly, showy affection, more than he can even say. But Chirrut knows–he always knows. “The safest place in the galaxy,” He whispers, and his intimate tone alone is enough to send a shiver up Baze’s spine. “In the arms of my protector.”

That earns him a squeeze from Baze that matches the tightening in his chest. They watch out for each other, they had their whole lives, each usually claiming to be the guardian of the other. And that scares Baze, still, in some way he can’t describe except as a painful twisting in his stomach; if the other is so self-sufficient, and there’s no doubt that he is, then what could his own purpose possibly be? “I’ll protect you,” He promises, and that’s not part of whatever game Chirrut is getting at. “I’ll always protect you.”

“I know.” He turns in Baze’s arms, dotting kisses across his chest, lips following fingers and vice-versa. “My brave protector. You take good care of me.”

And Baze just watches with rapt attention as Chirrut caresses his chest as if he can’t get enough of him. They’ve been together a long time, but the thought that crosses his mind gets away from him far too often: Chirrut really does _want_ him, as much as he has since they were teenagers, as much as Baze has always wanted him. He hooks a finger under his chin to coax him up for a kiss, more urgent now. He feels Chirrut’s satisfied smile as they part for breath. “Something funny?”

“I always know what you’re thinking,” Chirrut says with a curious tilt of his head, sitting back and tracing one finger down Baze’s abs. “Remember?”

“What am I thinking, then?”

“All kinds of things. You have a busy mind.” He strokes his hands down Baze’s arms again to take his hands, raising one to his cheek again “Your hands are rough.”

“But you like them.”

“I love them. Rough and warm and _big_.” He nuzzles his palm and Baze’s thoughts go fuzzy, eyes go dark. “Like the rest of you.“ There are those feeling, seeing hands on him again, down the thick trunk of his torso, fingertips pressing into soft flesh over well-built muscle, strengthened by years of carrying heavy armor and weaponry on top of what he’d developed alongside Chirrut at the Temple. While the other kept training, kept sharpening his martial arts skills, Baze did only what he needed to do to survive. But Chirrut appreciates the difference, seems fascinated by it, even.

“Not all so rough,” Baze jokes, though by now he’s exceptionally focused on what Chirrut is doing.

“Not all. All the right places.” He’s slid down to press kisses dangerously low across Baze’s abdomen. “Just perfect, love. Every inch…just right.”

“You’ll spoil me with this talk.”

“I don’t do it enough for that.” Those troublesome hands dip lower, feeling long lines of muscle up his thighs, over his hips. “And even if I did, you’re too resistant to it.”

He quirks an eyebrow and sits up halfway to get a better look at him. “Does this seem like resisting to you?”

“You don’t accept when I say nice things about you.” This hasn’t slowed him from nuzzling, kissing his hips, maddeningly. “You like it but you don’t believe me.”

“Because you say such foolish things…”

“I don’t say things I don’t believe. You should know that.” Baze shudders when Chirrut takes his length in hand and strokes him, and distracting as it is, it doesn’t seem intended as such, at least not solely. “And I believe you are my beautiful husband.” He moves to kiss the corner of his lips, whispering, almost purring, close to his ear. “My big, strong protector, who takes care of me like no one else. The only one I love.” He pauses, searching for some concept as it flits across his mind. “The one I can still see so clearly.”

Baze doesn’t bother to hide his shiver. Chirrut just knows all the right buttons to push, all the right words to whisper just so. But it’s better than that; he means it, too. “You see me,” He agrees, breath hitching thanks to Chirrut’s hand on him. “You always have.”

“You feel so _good_.” He says it so plainly, so without trappings of mysticism or poetic speech that Baze doesn’t know how to answer besides curling an arm around Chirrut and burying his face in the other’s neck, kissing from his ear to his shoulder and back up again. He doesn’t have to answer, though; Chirrut isn’t done pressing each and every one of his buttons just yet. “I want to feel you inside me,” He purrs, still pressed so close, hand leaving Baze’s cock in favor of bringing both palms to his chest.

The loss of sensation pulls a faint noise of complaint from low in Baze’s throat before he can stop it, and Chirrut’s words aren’t making him any more patient. The other is undeniably pleased with this result, and plants a firm kiss to Baze’s lips before drawing away a moment to find lube, tossed somewhere into the half-open drawer in the table next to their bed. Baze sits up, watching him, marvelling at the elegance in his movements even now, even as he hastily fumbles around, seeing with touch. Simple things become so beautiful when expressed in Chirrut’s graceful form, Baze muses. The loss of contact with the other coupled with watching him is too much and he strokes himself, which Chirrut somehow detects. He tilts his head towards him with a cluck of disapproval.

“So impatient,” He teases. “Am I taking too long?”

“You are,” Baze replies with a laugh, even as Chirrut returns to straddle his lap, arms looping about Baze’s shoulder. “If you could see yourself you’d understand.”

“Even if I could see,” He replies, pressing the bottle of liquid into Baze’s hand after a quick kiss. “I could not see myself with your eyes.”

Baze just grunts noncomittally in reply, impatience impeding any further comment, priorities set on slicking two fingers to prepare the other. Much to his chagrin Baze realizes how much he’d been basking in Chirrut’s words, and though he’s sure that if he’s thought it then the other already knows, he leans in to whisper to him as he carefully slides a finger inside him. “Tell me how it feels,” He murmurs, just a little hesitant to so blatantly urge on more of his praise. He doesn’t look for it from anyone else, not ever, and not even from Chirrut any other time. He never has, and if he thought for a second that anyone but Chirrut would know about it he’d be mortified.

Chirrut won’t let him feel embarrassed though, and even when he’s deeply focused on the sensation of Baze working him open, on staying grounded despite the almost overwhelming feeling, he nods and takes a deep breath, almost enough of a response even before he speaks. “You…” One word, breathed like a prayer as Chirrut rests his head onto Baze’s shoulder. “You make me feel so good, Baze.”

Humming his approval, he carefully insets a second finger, holding Chirrut closer with his other arm as he feels him trembling. They don’t do this that often; Chirrut is so easily overstimulated that it can be too much. Baze knows his limits, though, and knows that the way the other is moving against his hand is a sure sign that he’s not doing any of this simply for Baze’s benefit. Baze swallows and steadies his breath in hopes that an even tone will at least make him feel slightly less like he’s begging. “Keep talking.” It’s not as successful as he would have liked, but the smile it puts on Chirrut’s face makes up the difference. “Tell me everything.”

Chirrut shifts just a little as Baze slicks his length with more of the lube, both moving in tandem as always to position themselves so Chirrut can slowly slide himself onto him, hands squeezing so tightly at Baze’s shoulders that he’s sure to have lingering crescent-moon fingernail marks on his skin in the morning. “Feels good,” He pants, far beyond any hope of eloquence now though he still wants to give Baze all the adoration he so rarely asks for. “You’re so big. You know just how to–” His voice hitches when Baze’s gets a firm hold on his hips and that might have more impact on Baze than all the words he could possibly come up with.

“I know,” He guides him up and down again, still letting Chirrut set the pace, one hand remaining to palm at the sharp angle of his hip while the other arm curles around him again, unable to resist holding him closer, closer, closer. “I know what you need, don’t I?”

Chirrut is sure he had a good response to that ready but when he opens his mouth all he can manage is a soft sound of deep satisfaction as they move together just right. By now there’s no need to try to find the right words to praise him; Baze is truly making him feel too good to do anything else, albeit nonverbally. He tangles his hands in Baze’s hair instead, and moves faster, feeling a knot of pleasure, urgency, tighten within both of them.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” Baze mutters, not asking for anything in return this time, seemingly not even aware he’d said it, and disbelieving even if he were. Chirrut lets out a sound between a moan and a whimper and Baze is almost worried it’s too much, that the other man’s senses are on the verge of overheating. 

And then he hears something better than all the praise in the world, so softly that it’s hardly more than a breath. “Just like that. Please–please don’t stop.”

Baze is the one completely losing himself then, hooking a hand under Chirrut’s thigh and flipping them, the other landing on his back with a satisfying thump against their blankets and a little laugh of delirious, joyous pleasure at his husband’s enthusiasm. Baze thrusts into him hard and fast, stroking him in time (sort of) with the erratic not-quite-rhythm. He knows he’s murmuring something to him but words are coming faster than thoughts, but he knows there’s plenty of _Chirrut_ , and _love_ , and _mine_ , and Chirrut’s thighs squeeze around his hips in response. They come within seconds of each other, in a flurry of clutching hands and panting breaths, two sets of eyes fluttering shut as Baze lowers his head so their foreheads touch as they ride it out, completely entwined in one another.

It takes a while for either to gather either the steadiness or the willingness to move, but Baze manages it first, just enough to rest his head on Chirrut’s chest and listen to his heart come back down to a steady, resting beat. “My Chirrut,” He murmurs after a while, after he can remember how to form words again. “You’re so good to me.”

Chirrut sighs happily, an aura of total satisfaction glowing around him and around every word. “I know what you need, too.”

There’s the temptation to be embarassed, but Baze is too relaxed, too satiated and fuzzy, to bother. “You do.” A smile pulls at his lips. “My protector.”


End file.
